The Woodland Trust is asking the public to vote for England's first Tree of the Year - here's the top 10 to make your selection from.
I will, of course, be opting for the Major Oak, given its supposed Robin Hood connection.
While looking at the background of this, I noticed that what's thought to be England's oldest oak tree is just down the road from the office, here, near Bourne.
Showing posts with label Robin Hood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robin Hood. Show all posts
Monday, 27 October 2014
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
Robin Hood
I finally got round to seeing the new Robin Hood film last night, being a sucker for anything connected to Nottingham's favourite hoodie.
And the verdict? Well, it's certainly an enjoyable enough couple of hours, I suppose, although it suffers from two of Hollywood's current major vices - using a film for little more than setting up what it hopes will be a series of lucrative sequels, and applying more and more layers of sound and fury in place of a decent plot or dialogue.
Still, the performances are generally good. Russell Crowe is as watchable as usual, Cate Blanchett is a safe pair of hands as Marian, and there are some decent turns from the supporting cast, notably Max von Sydow and William Hurt.
But, and it's a big but, I came away rather unsatisfied. For a start, director Ridley Scott makes a big point of making sure we see a blood-and-horseshit version of the Middle Ages, with gritty realism the order of the day. Trouble is, where the plot's concerned, he doesn't bother paying too much attention to the actual history of the times, the original content of the ballads, or the legend as it has developed. Instead there's the usual thing of trying to rewrite the story to suit Hollywood, except that it's done without any real agenda or purpose. Why is Nottingham shown as little more than a hamlet? Why do the invading French storm ashore from what appear to be landing craft (and why do they land at the bottom of steep cliffs, for that matter?)? Things like these are annoying rather than being in any way definitive, but they're also pointless. Why not just try to get things right, if you're trumpeting the film's 'authenticity' elsewhere?
Crowe's been quoted as saying that he thinks the film gets as close to the 'truth' of the matter as ever, but in fact he and Scott seem to have cast aside almost all traces of the legend, or possible historical models and archetypes. They may emerge in the sequels, but I won't hold my breath.
The characters of Robin's fellow outlaws are left largely undeveloped (although Mark Addy makes a decent fist of injecting some of the legend's spirit into Tuck, despite looking disconcertingly like Terry Scott), as is that of the Sheriff of Nottingham. Presumably they'll come into their own in any sequels, too, although in the latter role there's zero chance of Matthew Macfadyen coming anywhere near Nickolas Grace's great turn in the 1980s TV series. Here he's so wooden it's a wonder he doesn't get lobbed onto the outlaws' campfire.
Finally, there's the accents. I didn't find them particularly distracting (and it wouldn't honestly have bothered me if Crowe had played RH in his own accent), but they are wildly uneven. Both Blanchett and Crowe often sound more Irish than anything else, while the rest of the time Crowe commutes between Middlesbrough and Merseyside, only occasionally stopping anywhere near Mansfield.
So, probably about 6 out of 10. Not bad, but could do better, and could do better without too much effort.
And the verdict? Well, it's certainly an enjoyable enough couple of hours, I suppose, although it suffers from two of Hollywood's current major vices - using a film for little more than setting up what it hopes will be a series of lucrative sequels, and applying more and more layers of sound and fury in place of a decent plot or dialogue.
Still, the performances are generally good. Russell Crowe is as watchable as usual, Cate Blanchett is a safe pair of hands as Marian, and there are some decent turns from the supporting cast, notably Max von Sydow and William Hurt.
But, and it's a big but, I came away rather unsatisfied. For a start, director Ridley Scott makes a big point of making sure we see a blood-and-horseshit version of the Middle Ages, with gritty realism the order of the day. Trouble is, where the plot's concerned, he doesn't bother paying too much attention to the actual history of the times, the original content of the ballads, or the legend as it has developed. Instead there's the usual thing of trying to rewrite the story to suit Hollywood, except that it's done without any real agenda or purpose. Why is Nottingham shown as little more than a hamlet? Why do the invading French storm ashore from what appear to be landing craft (and why do they land at the bottom of steep cliffs, for that matter?)? Things like these are annoying rather than being in any way definitive, but they're also pointless. Why not just try to get things right, if you're trumpeting the film's 'authenticity' elsewhere?
Crowe's been quoted as saying that he thinks the film gets as close to the 'truth' of the matter as ever, but in fact he and Scott seem to have cast aside almost all traces of the legend, or possible historical models and archetypes. They may emerge in the sequels, but I won't hold my breath.
The characters of Robin's fellow outlaws are left largely undeveloped (although Mark Addy makes a decent fist of injecting some of the legend's spirit into Tuck, despite looking disconcertingly like Terry Scott), as is that of the Sheriff of Nottingham. Presumably they'll come into their own in any sequels, too, although in the latter role there's zero chance of Matthew Macfadyen coming anywhere near Nickolas Grace's great turn in the 1980s TV series. Here he's so wooden it's a wonder he doesn't get lobbed onto the outlaws' campfire.
Finally, there's the accents. I didn't find them particularly distracting (and it wouldn't honestly have bothered me if Crowe had played RH in his own accent), but they are wildly uneven. Both Blanchett and Crowe often sound more Irish than anything else, while the rest of the time Crowe commutes between Middlesbrough and Merseyside, only occasionally stopping anywhere near Mansfield.
So, probably about 6 out of 10. Not bad, but could do better, and could do better without too much effort.
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
'Ard wok? Yeah, but worth mekkin' the effort, me duck
Still on a historical theme, I read this at the weekend.
I'm always wary of Hollywood versions of Robin Hood (well, I'm wary of pretty much any adaptation, be it TV or film or whatever), but I really can't wait to see this film now. Honestly. It'll be good to hear an attempt at an East Midlands accent. In the past, on the rare occasions that a TV programme has been set in the region, everybody's spoken like Brummies (Steve Coogan's Saxondale is the honourable exception). The prospect of England's greatest folk hero greeting his outlaw band with a gruff "ay up, me ducks" is too good to miss.*
I am sightly baffled by some of the pronunciations they mention. 'Corp' for 'cup'? No, and 'Noddinham' doesn't sound right, either. More like 'Nottnum', I'd have said. Still, 'tekking' is dead right, and hopefully they'll remember to drop their aitches and shorten all their vowels to ridiculous extremes. 'Wok' for work.** 'Oss' for horse, etc. And of course, they'll have to refer to their ill-gotten victuals as their 'snap'. Kudos to Crowe for even trying, though. I'll be first in the queue to see it.
* The comments thread, predictably, gets into the old Nottinghamshire vs Yorkshire debate. But we all know he was really from Leicestershire, don't we?
** Essential in terrible joke usually only intelligible to people from Whitwick (Johnny Wong's is the Chinese takeaway in the Market Place)...
"Have you heard? They're laying people off at Johnny Wong's."
"Really?"
"Yeah, they've got no wok."
I'm always wary of Hollywood versions of Robin Hood (well, I'm wary of pretty much any adaptation, be it TV or film or whatever), but I really can't wait to see this film now. Honestly. It'll be good to hear an attempt at an East Midlands accent. In the past, on the rare occasions that a TV programme has been set in the region, everybody's spoken like Brummies (Steve Coogan's Saxondale is the honourable exception). The prospect of England's greatest folk hero greeting his outlaw band with a gruff "ay up, me ducks" is too good to miss.*
I am sightly baffled by some of the pronunciations they mention. 'Corp' for 'cup'? No, and 'Noddinham' doesn't sound right, either. More like 'Nottnum', I'd have said. Still, 'tekking' is dead right, and hopefully they'll remember to drop their aitches and shorten all their vowels to ridiculous extremes. 'Wok' for work.** 'Oss' for horse, etc. And of course, they'll have to refer to their ill-gotten victuals as their 'snap'. Kudos to Crowe for even trying, though. I'll be first in the queue to see it.
* The comments thread, predictably, gets into the old Nottinghamshire vs Yorkshire debate. But we all know he was really from Leicestershire, don't we?
** Essential in terrible joke usually only intelligible to people from Whitwick (Johnny Wong's is the Chinese takeaway in the Market Place)...
"Have you heard? They're laying people off at Johnny Wong's."
"Really?"
"Yeah, they've got no wok."
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Robin Hood - loan shark
Well, that's how one of the radio news bulletins billed this, but the truth actually looks a lot less interesting. Can't really see anything particularly contentious in this, whether or not the author has interpreted the ballads correctly, and as you'll have noticed in the past, I'm a compulsive defender of RH's reputation.
Sunday, 2 March 2008
Quakes, books, etc
It's been quite an eventful few days. Wednesday morning, I was woken at 1am by the earthquake. At 5.2 on the Richter Scale, pretty small fry by global standards, but certainly a bigger deal than the last one I remember, which arrived on a Sunday afternoon and barely rattled the glasses in the Pump and Tap. This one rumbled and shook the house properly, rattling wardrobe doors and shaking shelves and furniture.
I've also been over in Wales (and by the way, a belated happy St David's Day to all), although to be fair Hay on Wye is only a couple of hundred yards over the border. It is, of course, a town that carries great dangers for anyone who already has a huge mountain of Books They Mean To Read. Still, in between a bit of birding (Buzzards and Dippers, mainly), and some hill-walking, I bravely walked straight into bookshop after bookshop in search of bargains. And my haul?
Collected Poems - RS Thomas (as I said a little while back, it's time I got a decent overview of this wonderful poet's work)
Later Collected Poems - RS Thomas
A Robin Hood Book - Alan Halsey (I have, of course, a Robin Hood fixation, and this strange little book is excellent. It's poetic prose, I suppose, blurring fact, fiction, politics and history in a highly readable fashion).
Skevington's Daughter - Oliver Reynolds (I bought Reynolds' The Oslo Tram years ago in a secondhand shop, and remain rather fond of it, so this was a no-brainer at £1)
The Player Queen's Wife - Oliver Reynolds (ditto)
Rounding The Horn: Selected Poems - John Stallworthy (I don't know much of Stallworthy's work, but this looked a must-have at £3)
Ill Met By Moonlight - W Stanley Moss (an account of real-life escapades in German-occupied Crete. The author's comrade in all this was Patrick Leigh Fermor, whose books I've probably raved about before)
The Twelve Days - George Malcolm Thomson (a 1960s account of the immediate lead-up to the Great War. It's superbly written, and what comes across especially is just how much imprecise use of language contributed to a crisis snowballing out of control)
God's Englishman - Christopher Hill (excellent biography of Oliver Cromwell which I read at school and again at university)
OK, so the last thing I need is more books, but given that only the Halsey book was full price, I was pretty pleased with that lot.
In between times, I went up to the Gospel Pass and down the Llanthony Valley, which is the kind of place that rightfully belongs in fairy tales and fantasy novels. It would be terrible if vast hordes of tourists did discover such a secluded, unspoiled spot, but if you're ever in the area, make sure you have a look.
I've also been over in Wales (and by the way, a belated happy St David's Day to all), although to be fair Hay on Wye is only a couple of hundred yards over the border. It is, of course, a town that carries great dangers for anyone who already has a huge mountain of Books They Mean To Read. Still, in between a bit of birding (Buzzards and Dippers, mainly), and some hill-walking, I bravely walked straight into bookshop after bookshop in search of bargains. And my haul?
Collected Poems - RS Thomas (as I said a little while back, it's time I got a decent overview of this wonderful poet's work)
Later Collected Poems - RS Thomas
A Robin Hood Book - Alan Halsey (I have, of course, a Robin Hood fixation, and this strange little book is excellent. It's poetic prose, I suppose, blurring fact, fiction, politics and history in a highly readable fashion).
Skevington's Daughter - Oliver Reynolds (I bought Reynolds' The Oslo Tram years ago in a secondhand shop, and remain rather fond of it, so this was a no-brainer at £1)
The Player Queen's Wife - Oliver Reynolds (ditto)
Rounding The Horn: Selected Poems - John Stallworthy (I don't know much of Stallworthy's work, but this looked a must-have at £3)
Ill Met By Moonlight - W Stanley Moss (an account of real-life escapades in German-occupied Crete. The author's comrade in all this was Patrick Leigh Fermor, whose books I've probably raved about before)
The Twelve Days - George Malcolm Thomson (a 1960s account of the immediate lead-up to the Great War. It's superbly written, and what comes across especially is just how much imprecise use of language contributed to a crisis snowballing out of control)
God's Englishman - Christopher Hill (excellent biography of Oliver Cromwell which I read at school and again at university)
OK, so the last thing I need is more books, but given that only the Halsey book was full price, I was pretty pleased with that lot.
In between times, I went up to the Gospel Pass and down the Llanthony Valley, which is the kind of place that rightfully belongs in fairy tales and fantasy novels. It would be terrible if vast hordes of tourists did discover such a secluded, unspoiled spot, but if you're ever in the area, make sure you have a look.
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